


it's a thin, thin line

by marcasite



Series: take it easy on my heart [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Angst, Kissing, POV Jyn Erso, Scars, Tumblr Prompt, and this is how she learns to understand him, but not really angst since they are so so in love, is there such a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 03:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14782874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcasite/pseuds/marcasite
Summary: She believes that he is a cartographer, creating a new world memorialized in the hills and valleys of her body. His hands will linger on a prominent scar on her collar bone, where a Vibroblade had dug in deep and left a reminder of its deadly power.





	it's a thin, thin line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swdsnygeek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swdsnygeek/gifts).



> For swdsnygeek / riderunlove on tumblr who asked for a "kiss on a scar"

She learns early on that he is quiet and efficient, a product of his life spent drifting along with the shadows. He never says more than he should, never volunteers anything about himself. She finds that for him; every moment, every word is calculated to give as little as possible. There is an intensity about him that draws her in despite how little he says out loud. She sees that he spends most days listening and watching others and so, she watches him. She watches the way he furrows his brow when he is trying to puzzle something out. She watches the way he appears devoted to a conversation but can see the way his eyes never seem to stop moving or assessing.

 

She watches the way he watches her. It’s a quiet constant and it’s another way she is learning to understand him. He is not the type that will give her some grand declaration of love, a public gesture of his intentions. He barely acknowledges his feelings to himself, she would never expect such a display from him.  Because she knows this, understands this, she’s learned to understand that when he walks by her with a quick greeting, nods curtly in group settings, sits quietly at a shared table and lets Bodhi drive the conversation, it isn’t that he doesn’t share those feelings with her. It’s simply that he can’t bring himself to voice them quite yet. 

 

She knows that in this one area between them, she is just a tiny bit braver than he is.

 

No, courting her in outwardly displays in what is deemed by polite society as appropriate will always be a struggle for him, a challenge to all the years he spent alone. This was something he was never going to excel at, only just manage. He was never very good at conforming.

 

But when they are alone, when it is just him and her, his hand will chart a path, marking itself from one monument to the next. She believes that he is a cartographer, creating a new world memorialized in the hills and valleys of her body. His hands will linger on a prominent scar on her collar bone, where a Vibroblade had dug in deep and left a reminder of its deadly power. His hands continue to roam, seeking out the next landmine and replacing it with the heat of his hands and mouth. He whispers against her skin; praising every mark, thanking every muscle, remembering every scar as the moment it was.

 

His mouth follows the path his hands have forged, seeking out every reminder of how quickly their lives can change, where moments are simply that. Moments.  

 

With every pass of his lips and every brush of his palm, she allows herself to fall under this spell he weaves until all she can hear is the sound of his voice and the promise of his hands. His hands are a drug against her heated skin, bringing a respite that she is addicted to, believing in what they promise as they trace along her skin, through her hair, around her soul. His whispers are smeared along her neck, between her breasts and she wants them to remain forever tattooed there along with the scratches his beard leaves behind and the scars he worships.

 

She is in love with him and he with her. It’s there in the feel of his hands, the strength they lend each other in those long days and even longer nights, there in the feel of his mouth along her marred skin. So no, it’s rare that they publicly show affection, it’s hard to shake a lifetime of training. But sometimes he’ll catch her eyes across the briefing room and send her heart racing with a simple look and there are those days when she passes him in the halls and brushes her fingers lightly against his in passing and knows that he has lost his train of thought when she hears him repeat himself awkwardly to his walking companion.

 

So, she lives for the moments they capture alone, those moments where time slows down and she can gather together all their moments and hold them close. She hears his love for her with every press of his lips against her skin, against every scar and knows that theirs is a different kind of love, a love that saves them both.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr any time, [leaiorganas](https://leaiorganas.tumblr.com/)


End file.
